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by KillerKueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Outlander AU, Rumbelle Christmas in July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 22:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKueen/pseuds/KillerKueen
Summary: For all it was raining wherever she was now, it hadn’t been in Storybrooke. None of that dark and stormy night nonsense, no lightning strikes, no giant green portals opening in the ground below her feet. That’s what annoyed her the most—it had otherwise been such a normal day. All she had done was open a book (on her afternoon break, no less), and then she had been pulled into—what looked like a forest. Well, if anyone could put on a brave face, it was Belle French.





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [CrossingInStyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrossingInStyle/gifts).



> Remember that I know nothing about anything. Also this was fun :)
> 
> Also also, there is some slight dub-con, and allusions to sexual assault.

It was probably the rain that woke her up. It was odd; she didn’t remember falling asleep (does anyone really _remember_ such a thing?) but there she was, on her side, staring blurrily at the weeds around her. She felt the curious sensation of water rolling sideways across her face, and she had the wild thought that she was lucky it was only drizzling or she might have drowned where she lay.

She tried to sit up, grimacing as pain throbbed behind her eyes. Giving up, she merely rolled over, afraid she’d vomit as the world went a little sideways. Belle took a deep breath through her mouth, trying to push down the panic that was bubbling right below her skin.

Even if she hadn’t just awoken, even if all she felt was the uncomfortable, clinging sensation of wet clothes against her skin, the pain is what sealed it: this was not a dream.

* * *

 

Belle French, head librarian of Storybrooke, hadn’t thought it strange that the book wasn’t on her order sheet, nor had she bat an eye when there was no author or publisher or even a copyright page to speak of. Belle had just assumed that it had been a self-published freebee, a thank you from the company for ordering from them as consistently as she did. It wasn’t unheard of for her to be sent samples, after all.

It was a handsome book, and maybe that’s what should have raised her suspicions in the first place: dark leather and pages that were thick and smooth, but not glossy. The title, _Once Upon a Time,_ was written in an elegant gold script. She had set it down on her desk so she could look through it properly later, and didn’t think about it for the rest of day.

Belle had felt so strange as she entered the new books into the system, as she shelved and checked out and greeted. Something was nagging her as if she had forgotten about an appointment, or if she were wearing two different shoes.

The feeling quieted when she closed the door to her office. It vanished when she picked up the book she had left by her desktop. She opened the pages at random.

Her world went white.

* * *

For all it was raining wherever she was now, it hadn’t been in Storybrooke. None of that _dark and stormy night_ nonsense, no lightning strikes, no giant green portals opening in the ground below her feet. That’s what annoyed her the most—it had otherwise been such a _normal_ day. All she had done was open a book (on her afternoon break, no less), and then she had been pulled into—what looked like a forest.

Which was…fine. It was mostly fine.

Only, she was wearing her heels (the red pumps with the peep toe that matched her belt) and she could feel them start to sink into the soft undergrowth of the forest. Her lacy blue dress hardly protected her from the soft rain that was falling, not to mention there wasn’t a path that she could see, and the sun wasn’t out, and _she had no god damned clue how any of this had happened._

But if anyone could put on a brave face, it was Belle.

Until the knight found her.

* * *

Now she was more lost than ever, stumbling blindly, desperately looking for a path, her shoes long gone and her pantyhose wrapped around a nasty cut to her palm. The throbbing pain her head had abated, at least, but the rain hadn’t stopped.

There was little else she could do but keep walking.

Belle let out a sharp hiss and she stepped on a sharp rock. Luckily, they were few and far between as the constant, if small, rainfall had softened the ground. She leaned against the rough bark of a tree as she ran her fingers over her muddy foot.

“Miss, are you alright?”

With a high-pitched squeal, Belle spun around, only to overbalance on her one leg. She fell to her knees, arms flying out to soften her fall. Quick as she could, she scrambled back to her feet, clawing for the trunk and ignoring how the sudden movement left her feeling entirely too light-headed.

“No, no no no, I’m sorry,” the voice said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Finally, her eyes landed on the speaker. She blinked, rubbing her hands over her face, wondering if she was seeing him correctly.

In front of her, about ten feet away, was a boy. An old boy. A teenager. He had on a thick cloak over a worn shirt and trousers, his clothes various shades of brown. His hair was dark and messy, the parts that stuck out of his hood stringy and wet with rain. He couldn’t have been more than a hair shorter than she was.

“Are you alright?” he asked again. His hands were raised, his palms to her. He didn’t come any closer.

“M’fine,” Belle said, her voice too breathy for her liking.

He frowned, not believing her. “You were headed that way?” he asked, chin pointed in the direction Belle had been going. He didn’t wait for a reply: “You’ll get to the main road if you keep going that way. It’ll lead towards the inn,” he said.

Belle bit her lip. An inn. Surely that was a good idea?

“That’s around where the knights are stationed,” he said.

Belle choked on her breath, pressing further into the trunk.

The boy nodded as if expecting that reaction.

“I know what it means,” he said softly, risking a step closer to her. “When a woman is alone in the woods with ripped clothes, hiding. You could home with me. My papa won’t hurt you like that.”

Belle swallowed. She studied the boy, his eyes earnest, his face pulled into such grave sincerity that she wasn’t sure if he really was as young as she had first thought.

“Your papa,” she said finally, voice flat.

He nodded eagerly. “He walks with a staff—if you got scared and wanted to run, he couldn’t catch you.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in her chest. If his father was even half as earnest and kind as this boy was, she’s pretty certain she’d be in good hands.

“My home is away from the village—away from the inn. It’s that way.” He gestured in a different direction from before. “It’d at least be somewhere dry.”

“I like the sound of somewhere dry,” she admitted. “Okay; I’ll go with you.”

His serious face melted into a sweet, boyish smile, the toothy grin somehow putting Belle more at ease than anything he had said before. Taking her acquiescence as permission to approach her, he started pulling at the clasp to his cloak. Despite her half-hearted protests, he draped the warm fabric over her shoulders.

Belle hadn’t realized just how chilled she had become. All at once her feet felt as heavy as cinderblocks, her head was still aching, and she pulled the cloak tighter around her. It was good that this boy had found her when he did.

“What’s your name?”

“Baelfire, miss,” he said with a smile. Up close, she could see a splatter of freckles across his nose, his eyes a deep, deep brown. “Son of Rumplestiltskin, the Spinner.”

“Rumplestiltskin?”

“Uh-huh.” His smile dimmed somewhat. “Have you heard of him?”

“It’s an odd name, I guess,” she said, biting her lip.

It was familiar too, though something told her that no, as much as she knew the story of the magical imp who could turn straw into gold, this was not that man. This was not that story. For one, she was pretty sure the imp had never had a son.

She thought of the knight, his breath hot in her face, his voice soft in her ear: _are you a witch, or just a whore?_

The words hadn’t really registered in her haste to get away, but Belle wondered now at the truth of them. She thought back to the heavy book in her hands, the leather the last thing she felt before she ended up in the forest.  What if it wasn’t another land that she had come from? What if she’d been sucked into the book?

“Miss?” Baelfire asked, drawing her back to the present. “We should get out of the rain, miss.”

She cleared her throat, hopelessness and panic clawing in her stomach. “Belle. My name is Belle.

* * *

The sun was just setting as they made their way through a large field, the forest at their backs. Baelfire’s home was cozy, a rundown hut that looked held together with string and hope. He opened the door for her, beckoning her through.

The first thing Belle noticed was the sudden warmth that she wanted to burrow in. The furs at her feet were a blessing all on their own, and she couldn’t help but clench her toes, trying to put down roots.

The second was the two voices that abruptly stopped when they caught sight of her. She stood as still as she could as two sets of eyes turned to her.

One was crystal clear and blue, his hair blond. He had wide shoulders and a broad chest, and she supposed he was handsome in a traditional sense. When smiled after a moment, and it put her at ease just as much as Bae’s had. This was not a man who would willingly hurt others.

The man next to him was slighter, so much so that he could be called gaunt, and his eyes were just as dark and deep as Baelfire’s. His hair was a lighter color and just grazed his shoulders. He must be Rumplestiltskin, Belle decided, taking careful note of his sharp jaw, sharp nose, and sharp eyes. Rumplestiltskin did not smile, and instead stared at her with his jaw slack, his eyebrows pinching together in confusion.

“David!” Baelfire said behind her, causing her to start. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said just a little too loudly.

“I was just getting ready to come looking for you,” David, the blond, said. “It’s dangerous at night, though something tells me you already knew that.”

Belle could feel their own scrutinizing gazes as if they were something wet, something sharp. The only thing she could think to do was stand there with her split lip, her matted, tangled hair. The cloak hid the bruises on her arms were the knight had held her down, but it didn’t quite cover the scrapes on her feet.

David rose. “I know I still have some planeby root,” he said, drawing on his own cloak from where it hung on the back of his seat. “I’ll go and grab it, and I’ll check about any solves or wrappings. I’m sure I can scrounge something up.”

Belle wasn’t sure who he was talking to, her or Rumplestiltskin, who had yet to tear his gaze from her face, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you, David,” Baelfire said. He tugged on her arm, drawing her closer to the fire, where his father sat. “Come sit down. You’ll feel a lot better once you’re off your feet.”

David slipped past them and out as Belle allowed herself to be led and pushed into David’s vacated chair.

“He’s our neighbor,” Bae explained. “Helps me watch the flock when Papa has to spin. He’s nice. Papa, this is Belle.”

Rumplestiltskin shifted as she settled, his gaze flickering away from her and to his son. He seemed to press himself back and away from her, but if it was to give her space or simply because he found her disagreeable, she couldn’t say. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He tapped his thigh nervously, unable to meet her eyes.

“What’s planeby root?” Belle asked when he continued to fidget.

Brown eyes snapped to her face, his eyebrows rising. “Hm?”

Belle raised her eyebrows right back, knowing he had heard her.

“It’s...it’s for tea,” he said finally, his eyes drifting over to his son, who was dragging down blankets from what looked like a loft at the far end of the hovel. “It will keep any seed from—from growing,” he said.

“Oh,” Belle said. “Oh, he uhm, didn’t get that far.”

Rumplestiltskin released a breath she hadn’t even known he was holding, his shoulders sagging. “Good,” he said quietly. After a pause, “It’s still a rather steadying drink. Will help to warm you up if nothing else.”

“Here,” Bae interrupted. “We can hang the cloak up to dry, and these are warmer anyway,” he said, holding out the blankets he had been wrestling with.

Belle smiled, so deeply touched by this sweet boy. “Thank you, Baelfire,” she said, happy to make the trade.

Rumpelstiltskin watched as she peeled off the cloak, his eyes on her bruises, on her ruined dress.

“Miss Belle,” he said as she wrapped herself up in the blankets. “You’re safe here, for as long as you need to be.”

Belle met his gaze. She nodded.

* * *

Planeby root made a bitter tea, but Belle only took sugar in her coffee, so she drank it anyway.

* * *

The next morning dawned cold and wet. The drizzle had turned into a steady downpour overnight, but the hovel remained warm and dry. Belle burrowed firmly into the blankets she had been given last night, pulling them firmly around her as she tried to sink back into sleep. Her body ached.

She could hear a quiet whirring sound that was familiar, but she couldn’t place. It was the only sound other than the constant _tap tap tapping_ of the rain on the roof.

So Belle dozed, lulled to a light sleep by the rain and the spinning of a wheel.

She jolted awake when the door was flung open.

“Baelfire,” Rumpelstiltskin scolded.

“Sorry, Papa, I forgot.”

Belle sat up, rubbing her eyes. She didn’t mind the wake-up call; she was going to have to face her reality sometime.

Which Bae seemed to agree with wholeheartedly. As soon as he saw she was awake and sitting up, he said, “Sir Gaston has set up a watch for you.”

“ _Baelfire_ ,” his papa said.

“You can try to leave. But he’s really angry. So I don’t think you should.”

“Where was this watch yesterday?” Belle asked.

Bae shrugged. “He seemed to think you’d have just wandered into the village on your own.” He pulled at the clasp to his cloak, finally taking it off as well as he could so he didn’t get water everywhere. “He thinks women are...uh…”

His father interrupted that particular train of thought, not that Belle needed to be told what the knight thought of the fairer sex.

“You were supposed to be helping David, not going into town to hear the gossip.”

“Someone had to. David agreed, anyway,” he said. To Belle he said, “You didn’t mention that you got a shot in.”

Belle blushed at the look of pride on his face. “I just scratched him,” she said.

“You did what?”  Rumpelstiltskin turned to her, eyes wide, his gaze downright awe-struck. Her blushed only deepened and she had to look away.

Bae mimed gouging his face. “He has four scrapes. Nasty looking things,” he said with glee.

Rumpelstiltskin licked his lips, the anxiety warring with the admiration on his face. Belle had a feeling she knew what he was thinking about.

“Perhaps you’d be safer at David’s.”

Bae’s smile disappeared. “David’s is closer to town, and he’s much closer to the main road. She’s safe here.”

“I think he’s just worried about you,” Belle murmured. If the knight was angry with her, he certainly wouldn’t hesitate to punish those who helped her hide from him. She drew her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. The thought of anything bad happening to Bae left her feeling cold.

Rumpelstiltskin pushed away from his stool, finally giving up the pretense that he was trying to spin. “Bae’s right, though. David sees a lot of travelers. If the goal is to keep you hidden, here is—is best.”

“Is your village large?” Belle asked, curious despite herself.

“It’s smaller than most,” Rumpelstiltskin said as Bae plopped himself down next to her. “But there has been an increase in people on the road ever since the end of the ogre war.”

Belle snorted a laugh, trying too late to disguise it as a cough. It wasn’t funny—ogres and knights and a spinner named Rumpelstiltskin. Suddenly her chest felt very tight, her skin clammy. Her head hurt, and she pressed it into her hands, unable to look at the looks of bewilderment in her hosts’ faces.

“Belle?” Bae asked when her shoulders started to shake.

“Be a good lad and make some tea, eh?”

The blankets shifted again as Bae reluctantly stood back up. The sound of the cupboards opening, of things being rifled through was loud in the quiet space. Belle focused on taking deep breaths.

“What is this place?” she asked when she had calmed. “Where am I?”

If he was concerned by the turn in the conversation, he didn’t show it. “You’re in the Frontlands, the land of the White King.”

“Like Snow White?”

“That’s the princess’ name, I believe, yes.” There was a pause. Then: “You must come from somewhere far away.”

“Well I’m certainly not from around here.”

Rumple huffed a laugh. “I meant what I said last night, Miss. I won’t ask you leave.”

Belle wiped her face on the sleeve of the dress they gave her last night. “I don’t want to make you or Bae a target.”

Rumple shrugged, his eyes crinkling in a smile he clearly didn’t feel. “No one comes here. We’ll just wait for this to blow over.”

He was not a tall man, not sturdy or broad, and he had a limp caused by a twisted ankle. But he was kind, and Belle felt safe. For now, that was enough.

* * *

The days passed slowly.

Rumpelstiltskin spun by the fire, made tea. The rain exacerbated his ankle, so he rarely left to check on the sheep, Bae being more than happy to go in his place. Belle, despite their protests, kept herself busy. She took over the cooking, the cleaning. She even darned the socks, Rumple’s lips twitching as he thanked her for her crooked, uneven lines.

At night they sat by the fire and listened as they told each other stories. Sometimes David would join them, talking of friends in the neighboring kingdom of Arendelle. They didn’t talk about Gaston, then.

It was routine, these quiet moments spent in a fairytale. Belle hadn’t had family, hadn’t had close friends back in her world. When they were together at night it was easy to forget that going outside was dangerous, that Rumple got jittery and nervous whenever she went past the laundry lines.

 _It isn’t forever,_ Belle would remind herself. She just had to hold out until Gaston got bored or gave up. She could content herself on watching Rumple as he spun, Bae asleep beside her. It was a secret delight of hers to watch the way the shadows and firelight danced across the the angles of his face, his hands steady and sure as they worked.

Watching him warmed her up better than a fire ever could.

* * *

Once, when the embers burned low and they were all supposed to be asleep, Bae asked her, “How are you going to get home?”

Belle turned over in her blankets. She could hear Rumple’s snoring from across the room.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“You could stay,” Bae said, his voice swallowed by the dark. “You could stay here with me and Papa.”

“Yeah,” Belle said. “I could.”

Minutes passed, and soon Bae’s steady breathing joined Rumple’s snores.

Belle didn’t sleep much that night.

* * *

When Belle thought of home, she thought of her library, of all the books that she had yet to catalogue and shelve. Books were few and far between here, which was her only lament.

She kept darning socks, kept washing the dishes. She sat with Rumple and Bae by the fire.

Everything was sweet and calm, and Belle was content.

Until the knight found her.

* * *

 It was a sunny afternoon, the second day in a row it hadn’t rained, and Belle was pulling the laundry down. She was humming to herself, thinking of nothing in particular when suddenly David was beside her, pulling her into the house.

“What—”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” he said, closing the door behind him. “Bae’s been arrested.”

Rumple looked up from the wheel. He frowned, as if he had just heard a tasteless joke. “Arrested? But why? For what?”

“For ‘obstructing a knight’s business.’”

Rumple’s eyes snapped to Belle’s. She felt as if a hand were wrapped around her throat (hands gripping her arms, pressing her down).

Clutching the wheel like a lifeline, Rumple shook his head, his eyes widened in horror.

“Is he expecting a trade?” Belle asked, her voice sounding hollow to her ears.

“Not exactly,” David said. “Just listen, okay? We don’t have much time. Bae came up with an excuse as to why a strange woman is living with you—he’s been insisting that Belle is his new stepmother.”

“Stepmother?” Rumple said.

“He’s thought it through: she’s a friend of my friends from Arendelle and came here to marry as soon as the war ended.”

“David, that’s prepos—”

“The problem is that Gaston knows there haven’t been any marriages in the weeks that Belle’s been here,” David continued. “He’s gone to the magistrate and is on his way here so he can see you wed at once.”

“What about Bae?” Rumple said, his voice a few notches higher.

“He’s being held in the jailhouse. Gaston says he’ll be released when this matter is resolved.”

Belle frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“He’s expecting you to run, I think,” David said. “Or at least refuse, in which case—”

“Of course I’m not running,” Belle snapped. A coil, bound tight and hot had snapped inside her. She advanced on David, who held up his hands in a pacifying gesture that she ignored. “I, for one, am tired of letting myself be cowed and intimidated by some over-sized prick who thinks he can bully people into getting what he wants. How _dare_ he use Baelfire like this, and how _dare_ he think I will let him get away with this.”

She whirled around to face Rumple. “We’re getting married today,” she said, her tone daring Rumple to disagree with her.

She need not have worried; the look on Rumple’s face was one of such wonderment that the answer couldn’t have been anything other than _yes._

“Aye,” he said, breathless. “We’re getting married.”

David looked between them. “Well, that makes the next part a little easier then.”

“Next part?” Belle asked, unable to tear herself away from the look on Rum’s face.

“He’s demanding proof of maidenship.”

“ _Excuse me?”_ With her eyes still on Rumple, she saw his wince, the guilt that clouded the awe.

David kept his hands up, his eyes shooting to the window as the sound of horses could be heard.

“Gaston claims he took your maidenhead that night in the woods, and that he is entitled to your hand in marriage because of it. If you don’t marry Rumple, he’ll marry you himself.”

“He didn’t,” Belle said. “I got away. How in gods name do we prove—”

“He’ll want to look at the marriage bed. At the sheets, I mean. See the proof there,” Rumple said softly. His eyes darted to his spinning wheel, to the pad that he slept on.

Belle bit the inside of her cheek. What an archaic practice. She wasn’t a maiden, hadn’t been since she was a teenager, and even then she hadn’t bled her first time. _Women weren’t supposed to bleed,_ she wanted to yell, but this was hardly the time for a sex-ed lesson, especially now that footsteps could be heard up the path to the door.

He didn’t bother knocking. “Open up, Spindleshanks. I know you’re in there,” said a voice Belle had hoped never to hear again.

Before either Rumple or David could move, Belle walked to the door and swung it wide. There stood Gaston, tall and broad-chested, sneer firmly in place. Behind him was the magistrate, an old man with frazzled, graying hair that stuck out in all directions, round glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Good afternoon, madame,” said the magistrate. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

“Yes, thank you. Today is my wedding day,” Belle said tightly, glaring at Gaston.

Gaston’s sneer deepened as he looked through the threshold and saw David. “I see someone has already explained. No matter,” he said turning back to Belle. “The choice is obvious, girl.”

“You’re right,” she said. “It is. Sir,” she said, addressing the magistrate, “would you please marry  Rumpelstiltskin and me?”

“Of course, my dear,” the man said.

“Now wait just a minute,” Gaston said. “You would rather shackle yourself to this sorry excuse for a man then me? I’m offering you an out, you stupid girl.”

“You are offering me nothing,” Belle said.

“Fine,” Gaston sneered. “Marry old Hobble Foot here. Be the laughingstock of the village. I’ll keep that boy of yours, show him what happens to those who disobey me.”

Rumple made a sound of distress in the back of his throat. Belle drew herself up to her full height, head thrown back.

“You will do no such thing, Gaston,” the magistrate said. “The boy will be released once proof of consummation is given. You are aware that your virtue has been called into question, dear?” he asked Belle.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Given that Baelfire is still young, I’ll put him up in the inn for the evening. Consider it a wedding present,” he said. “We will return in the morning, you can show that you are as virtuous as you say, and we can all get on with our lives.”

There wasn’t any sort of amusement in his face, just mild annoyance. Belle got the sense he was being generous out of spite for Gaston.

“Now then, madame, what is your name?”

“Belle.”

“Belle, do you take Rumpelstiltskin as your husband from this day forward, to become blood of his blood, together till death do you part?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Rumpelstiltskin, same question.”

“Y-yes. I do.”

“Well, then. I do declare you are married. I will see you tomorrow. Ta-taa.”

“That’s it?” Gaston snapped. “But—”

“Gaston,” the magistrate said, a hard, impatient note in his voice. “Let this go.” Without another word, he walked back to the horses, Gaston following in his wake. With one final sneer in her direction, they mounted and were gone.

Belle closed the door. Squaring her shoulders, she marched over to the pallet that Rumple slept on, pulling it closer to the hearth. The sheets on it were mostly clean, replaced during the first round of laundry the day before, which was just as well for their purposes. If they were going to do this, they weren’t going to do it in some musty corner.

When she straightened, she was met with twin, slack jawed looks.

“David,” she said patiently.

That seemed to kick him out of his stupor. “Yes, right, I’ll be on my way. I’m glad to see everything’s worked out fine.”

“Will Bae be okay at the inn?” Belle asked.

“If he’s at the inn he’s perfectly safe, but I’ll stop by, let him know that you’re officially his mother now. He’ll like that, I think.”

“Thank you, David,” Rumple said, letting him show himself out, not taking his eyes off Belle.

With that, they were alone.

“Well,” Belle said, at a loss. She wasn’t sure how to go about this. “Come sit down.” She plopped down on the pallet herself, holding her hand out for him.

He still had that adorable, dreamy look on his face, his hand blindly reaching for hers. Belle kept hold of him when he was down next to her.

“Rumple, if you don’t want to...consummate the marriage, we don’t have to.”

He squeezed her hand. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

“I just want us to be on the same page.”

“Right. Well.” He came to a halt when she bit her lip, his eyes drawn to her mouth.

“Are you okay with this?” Belle asked. She hadn’t really gotten his actual opinion on anything that had happened in the last hour or so. It had all unfolded so fast. “Being married I mean, not just the sex part.”

Rumple gave her a rueful smile, even as he blushed. “I of all people know that the bonds of matrimony are only as strong as one chooses to make them.”

Belle squeezed his hand again. She leaned towards him, close enough to feel the warmth from him shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“You never asked where your dresses came from,” he said still not looking at her.

“I assumed they came from...a wife?” she said slowly. “Bae’s mother.”

“Aye.”

“I...I thought she may have died.” Bae had never mentioned a mother, nor had Rumple ever mentioned a woman, period. Belle could tell that the clothes had been in the trunk for a long time, so it seemed fair to assume that whomever they belonged to was long gone.

“She left.”

“Just...left?”

“Ran off with a man worthy of her,” he said not making eye contact.

“Do you think I’ll leave?” Belle asked after a pause.

“Your home is somewhere far away, you’ve said so yourself.”

“Can’t this be my home now?” She tugged on his hand until he met her eyes. “Or you and Bae could come with me, when it’s time.”

“Go with you?”

“I think...I think I want you with me, Rumpelstiltskin. Always.”

“I want that too,” he said. Lord, but his eyes were deep and dark, growing darker the more Belle gazed into them.

“Rumple?” she said.

“Aye?”

“We’ve been married a whole twenty minutes and you haven’t kissed me yet.”

“That sounds like a problem.”

“It’s a travesty.”

“Maybe I should—”

Belle pressed her lips to his, drinking the words he was about to say. When he gasped, Belle slipped her tongue into his mouth, her hands gliding up to his hair. She was delighted to find it was every bit as soft as it looked.

* * *

 It was a relief that Belle hadn’t moved the pallet for nothing. Not that she was thinking about it with her head thrown back, one hand on her breast as the other clenched in Rumple’s soft, soft hair, his tongue working between her legs.

She wasn’t thinking much of anything, only what it felt like as he ran his tongue along her labia, sucking it gently before running his tongue around her clit. His finger teased at her entrance, and he ran it up and down her slit until she was ready to scream. She broke, at long last, when he finally entered her and crooked his finger just so, to the side, his tongue still at her clit.

When Belle finally got him underneath her, when she finally straddled his hips and guided his cock into her body, she saw stars, her cunt clenching as she took as much of him as she could.

“Oh, Belle,” he gasped, sprawled beneath her, his eyes moving from her breasts as they bounced with each downwards thrust of her hips to where she rode him, where they were both wet and sticky.

When she clenched around him, reaching the very edge of her pleasure, it was enough to send him over also, and she revealed in the feel of him emptying in her.

She ran her hands up his chest, up his throat to his jaw. She cupped his face, the precious, beautiful thing that it was. He opened his eyes, and Belle basked in the tender look she saw there.

She kissed him, gently.

* * *

 They lay there in the late afternoon sun, enjoying that it wasn’t raining or that they hadn’t had to start a fire yet. They explored and re-explored each others bodies lazily with hands and mouths. It was soft, and sweet, and perfect.

The sun had set and Belle was dozing when Rumple pulled himself up and away from her. She grumbled in protest, rubbing at her eyes.

“Just a moment, my love,” he said.

Belle hummed, sitting up to watch him return to their marriage bed with the spindle of his spinning wheel. She frowned.

He shrugged. “I’d rather protect your reputation,” he said right before pricking his finger hard enough to draw blood.

Belle made a disagreeable sound in the back of her throat. “Do we really have to show them the sheets?” Her bravado from earlier had waned somewhat.

Rumple pressed his thumb to his finger, then hovered over the largest wet spot. Belle watched at red bloomed against the white.

“We likely will, yes.” He raised the spindle, twiddled it in the air. “It’d only cause more problems if we refused at this point.”

She rolled her eyes, falling back down and muttered something barbaric practices as Rumple put the spindle away.

“What’ll we do after?” she asked, wrapping around him like a cat when he lay back down next to her, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

“Tomorrow, you mean? When Bae’s back?”

“Yeah.”

He was quiet for some time, running his hands up and down her arm. “There’s a city, about a day and a half journey from here. It’s nearly three times as large as our village.”

“Okay,” Belle said, lips twitching when he said _our._

“Well, there’s a bookseller there, and we did well enough at the last market—”

“There’s a bookseller?” Belle gasped, sitting up, eyes wide. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“My dear, you would have doomed us all,” he said, eyes crinkling as he smiled, tilting his chin up for a kiss.


End file.
